Weather Permitting
by HotLiquidJello
Summary: High school AU Captain Swan. Emma arrives sopping wet at Killian Jones' doorstep. Being a gentleman he ushers her inside, and takes care of her for the evening. But love is never as easy as one perfect night can make it seem.


**AN:** When this idea first came to me it was supposed to be just this chapter as a sweet little one shot. Alas it was not to be as my brain wouldn't shut up and before I knew it I had practically filled an entire notebook with outlines and ideas and it definitely wasn't a one shot anymore. It had also become a lot more angsty. So here we are, with my first official, multi-chapter CS-brainchild.

* * *

Sheets.

It _had _to be pouring in sheets. Of course.

_This is all August's fault_, she mused as she rang the doorbell again. He _made _her tutor him even though he was clearly sick, to the point where he wasn't lucid enough to remember anything she said anyway.

Unsurprisingly, she had come down with the same nasty bug as well, and had to miss school.

It shouldn't have been that big a deal. Emma was plenty bright enough for a few days' make-up work, and Mary Margaret had even surpassed best friend duties and made her copies of the various poetry worksheets Ms. LaFrench had passed out. There was no reason to be concerned – save for the fact she had missed a lab in chemistry.

The day she returned, Mr. Gold had asked to see her after class. After a speech about the importance of attendance, and how not doing her work would affect both her grades and future, he assigned her an essay on the subject to make up partial credit from missing the practical lesson.

"_And Miss Swan, be sure not to 'half-ass it' as you adolescents seem like to do."_

"_Yeah. Sure thing. Got it," and with a huff she stalked out the classroom and entered the hall of rowdy students. She fought her way to her locker, and with a sigh fell back against it. She turned around and dialed in her combination before unceremoniously throwing in her books._

"_Swan," a lilting voice came from behind her._

_She spun and came face to face with Killian Jones. _Jesus – Personal space, much? _She had to stop herself from snapping at him. "Yeah?" She couldn't fathom what he may have to say to her. Her interactions with Killian Jones were usually limited to…Emma didn't even know what they were limited to because they didn't interact. They both just happened to occasionally exist in close proximity, not an uncommon byproduct of attending the same school._

_He stared at her a moment before responding. "I overheard Gold giving you that make-up assignment. I wanted to offer my notes."_

"_How chivalrous," she quipped, "Tell me, do you come to the aid of every damsel in distress, or just the ones who aren't swooning over either your jock status or European allure? Look, I don't need your help – I'll be fine."_

"_Ah, you admit I'm alluring?" She rolled her eyes at him. He simply bit his lower lip in attempt to curb his smile before continuing. "You're certainly no damsel in distress, Swan. And you've made sure everyone's well aware of that fact. Even so, I am in AP Chem with you and know what Gold demands from his students. Particularly, in regards to certain points he may have emphasized yesterday if we wanted to pass the final. Additionally I have a strong desire to show off my exceptional use of color coded highlighters." His mouth fully quirked up into a smirk as he extended his folder towards her._

_Her eyes flicked back and forth from the folder to his face. Finally she reached out to take it. "Thanks."_

"_Don't mention it."_

_He lingered behind her while she continued shuffling out the contents of her messenger bag. "Don't you have, Idunno, cheerleaders to hit on, or something?" she asked as she closed her locker._

"_I think," he said, his gaze steadfast on hers, "you're confusing me with my associate, Victor. Though I do believe he has recently reformed from his playboy ways thanks to your friend Ruby._

"_Right." He had a point. Despite his universally renowned good looks and Irish accent that decimated the ovaries of the female population of Storybrooke High, Killian Jones was not known as senior year's crusading Casanova. If anything he was as damn near a proper gentleman as you could be expected to find in an institution bubbling over with hormones and angst. Still didn't explain why he was practically breathing down her neck, however…_ _"Well. Thanks again. See ya around, Jones." And with that she turned and bolted down the hall to her next class. When she was about to round the corner, she hesitated and looked back over her shoulder, but he was gone. She shrugged off the exchange and proceeded to English._

A soggy leaf blew into her face, snapping her out of the memory. _Why did he have to give me his stupid notes anyway? _Emma pondered as she leaned against the alcove, turning to look at the downpour just a few feet away.

The weather report had called for clear skies all week. So she declined Ruby's offer to drive her home from work before the brunette took off camping for the weekend with Granny. She walked by his house, famous for its post-game parties, on her route from the diner anyway. Seemed simple enough.

Emma should have known better right then – nothing in her life was ever simple.

* * *

"Alright – I'M COMING!" _Who the hell would be calling at this hour?_ Killian Jones opened the door. "Hell-oh shit. Emma! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Lab notes," she got out through chattering teeth while extending a folder towards him. "Figured I'd drop them off on my walk home." She managed to say the words as though they sufficiently justified why she was turning his welcome mat into a puddle.

After he'd tenuously grabbed them, she turned as if to leave.

"Wait! Emma. I – I _can't_ let you walk home in this."

She opened her mouth about to object, but as if nature itself wanted to punctuate his point, lightening chose that moment to momentarily illuminate the sky.

Knowing he had won this argument, and what a rare feat that was with Emma Swan, he grabbed her arm and started to pull her inside before she could continue protesting. "C'mon" he murmured, closing the door behind her, "Let's get you dried off."

"I – um – thank you," she mumbled as she shuffled through the foyer.

"Don't mention it. This way," he said, sliding his hand down until he held hers, and gently tugged as he led her upstairs.

She cringed with every step – not only was she certain she was leaving a small river in her wake, but her shoes made a horrendous _squelch_ every time she placed a foot to follow him. To add further insult to injury, she was aware she must be trembling and that he could feel it.

Looking to distract herself from her ever-growing embarrassment, she decided to take in her surroundings. Despite the flyers advertising an open invitation to the many parties hosted here, she had never been in the Jones residence before. The house looked like a Macy's commercial. The stairway was lined with photos of them as a family and aside from the fact that the backdrop was Ireland, it was the spitting image of what Hollywood told you the perfect American family was supposed to be like: mother, father, and two handsome sons. Emma remembered hearing from down the grapevine (meaning Ruby) that the elder Jones brother remained in Ireland for university. It was basically the life Emma had always dreamed about, and she couldn't bite back the stinging bit of longing she felt, despite her overall current state of numbness.

"Just in here," he said, towing her towards an open door just to the right of the top of the stairs. "Wait in here for just a minute." And with that he left her in the bathroom. She couldn't help but mourn the loss of his hand on hers, the warmth it had provided. With nothing else to do, she surveyed the room as she crossed her arms in futile effort to stave off the chill. It had all the typical bathroom elements. She gathered that this must be Killian's bathroom based off of the various shaving and deodorant accoutrements across the counter.

A moment later, he returned. "Here are some towels, and dry clothes," he said, arranging the stack on what Emma gathered must be a towel heater. He then crossed to the tub and fiddled with the faucet. "It can be a little fussy if you're not familiar with it…there ya go. Just turn the handle to however hot you want it."

Emma was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she was in his house, and attempting to process his words when he stepped closer and began peeling off her jacket, derailing her train off thought in the process. "Christ, you're completely soaked through." He grabbed her bag in addition to her coat before taking a step back. Once again, Emma suddenly found herself much colder than she had been a moment ago. "I'll go put these in the laundry room. Just…take your time." He cast her a brief smile before backing out into the hall, and closing the door behind him. She remained stationary for a few seconds, listening as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

Still unable to fully understand the ridiculous situation she found herself in, some common sense in her brain took over, commanding Emma to strip down, place her bra and underpants on the towel warmer, and pad over to the shower. She stepped into the tub and turned on the water, set to maximum heat, and let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding in as the steaming water rained out of the showerhead, massaging her numbness away.

* * *

She emerged from the bathroom feeling infinitely better than when she'd entered. She also emerged wearing a pair of Killian's lounge pants and a t-shirt. Retracing her steps down the stairs, she looked to either side of the foyer. "Killian?"

"Over here!" she heard from around a corner. She followed the voice to what she discovered to be the kitchen. It looked much more cluttered, ransacked even, from what she had come to expect from the rest of the house.

"Where should I put these?" she asked, outstretching her arms slightly, holding her still soaking clothes.

"Ah. Laundry room's just through there."

She followed where he had pointed and tossed her garments into the washing machine. She turned to look for the detergent when she slammed into a wall of toned muscle, ushering a startled "_ooph_" to slip from her mouth. She didn't realize he had followed her into the tight quarters.

"Sorry," she said breathily, all the air suddenly, seemingly sucked from her lungs.

"Don't be." He smiled at her, an actual smile – not his usual smirk. "Here, let me." He deftly grabbed the blue jug and poured a capful of detergent into the machine. After dialing in various settings and hitting start, initiating the rhythmic sloshing and churning, he turned back to her and gestured for her to go back to the kitchen. Carefully stepping past him, she strode towards the table and the cluttered mess atop it.

"So what's all this then?"

"I um, didn't know what you liked. So I got out everything…" He anxiously rubbed his neck.

Emma was taken aback by his thoughtfulness. But not wanting to linger on it and make an awkward silence, she turned to observe the chaos more closely. There was coffee, more teas than she knew existed, a bowl that curiously held a lemon, bottle of honey, apple cider vinegar, salt and cayenne pepper, boxes of TheraFlu and just about everything else save the kitchen sink. Her eyes skimmed over everything before finally settling on one canister in particular. She grabbed it and extended it to her host. "Do you have any cinnamon?"

He grinned. "I think some can be procured."

They ventured to the pantry where Emma had been the one to discover – with an excited squeal – a jar of cinnamon sticks. Back in the kitchen, Killian grabbed a pot from a cupboard, and milk from the fridge.

"No boiling water and packet mixes, eh?" She asked as he scooped the chocolate shavings into the saucepan of simmering milk.

He laughed. "You'll find no Swiss Miss in this house. I was a particularly fussy child and apparently complained of the stuff tasting of dust."

"Your parents must have been thrilled. How did they put up with you and your difficult ways?"

"They didn't seem to mind – in fact they encouraged my 'sophisticated palate' as they called it."

She arched a brow at him. "Do you mean they placated you to stop your whining?"

"Oi! I'm offended that you'd say such a thing." He lightly tapped the wooden spoon to her hand. "I've never whined in my life."

"Oh really? Never?" she asked in disbelief.

"Irish boys never whine… we whinge."

"Oh – I'm sorry. Forgive me for my ignorant, American ways."

"Perhaps I should fetch some kippers and such to help enlighten you."

"Um. I think I'm good with my cocoa, and uncultured customs truth be told. Thanks for the offer though."

"Fair enough," he said, laughing again. "I think you've suffered enough for one night."

Emma let out a laugh of her own in agreement. Everything had been unexpected since she'd showed up at Killian Jones' doorstep, but she couldn't say it had thus far been a miserable experience. In fact, she was rather enjoying herself.

"Do you want to watch a movie or something while we wait for your laundry?" he asked while handing Emma her mug.

"Sure. Gotta do something to pass the time. What have you got?" Cocoa _and_ a movie? Yeah, definitely didn't seem like Emma would be complaining about the evening after all. The company wasn't half bad either. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and wondered why they hadn't ever tried to get along sooner. They'd had several classes together since he'd transferred their sophomore year, and now he was on the football team with David who was practically her brother in addition to her best friend's boyfriend. It had just been a matter of time before their paths crossed, she figured.

He led her out of the kitchen and into the living room. After putting his own cocoa down on the coffee table, he opened a cabinet. "See for yourself."

"Wow," Emma said, not feigning her impressment, her eyes scanning over shelf upon shelf of title after title. "Good collection. Are these just yours, or…?"

"Yup. This is my stash," a conspicuous amount of pride in his voice at his trove.

As she kept skimming across the various titles, she eyed a certain light blue DVD case. "Is this?" She reached for it as his eyes went wide. "It _is_! You like _The Notebook_?!"

"If you tell anyone, I will make sure no one finds your body." His voice was serious, but his blue eyes were all smiles. "Don't judge. It can't be blood and guts all the time."

"I guess not. But I have to say, I'm still fairly disappointed – not that you have it – but that there were so many other responses you could have gone with: 'it's my mom's', 'Rachel McAdams is hot'. I expected more from you, Jones," she said, shaking her head in mock shame.

"I yearn for the day I end up at your place, Swan, and can ridicule _you_ for your reactions to my finding any incriminating possessions – because I _will _find them. Now stop stalling, so I can at least judge you for whatever movie you pick."

"Okay, okay. Gimme a minute!" She let her eyes continue to roam over the cases, seeing what struck her fancy. After some deliberation, she grabbed _Captain America_.

Killian approved. "Excellent choice. And not what I was expecting from you."

"You forced my hand – you don't have the version of _Puss in Boots_ starring Christopher Walken. Seriously though, I love this movie."

"It's a brilliant movie. Jefferson and I went to the midnight showing – and you would not believe how excited he is for _Winter Soldier_."

"The cryptic Jefferson is a Marvel fanboy?" Emma said, throwing herself onto the couch, pausing for a moment when she realized what an accustomed that action was, and how comfortable she was feeling. "I never would have guessed."

"I'm pretty sure the reason he travels so much is because he's looking to meet the person actually named Stephen Rogers"

"I hope he finds him. Now hurry up and press play!"

"So demanding!" He tutted at her good-humoredly . "Very well, princess."

* * *

At the end of the film, they shared a look communicating a silent understanding that they were waiting for the after-credits scene. After watching the necessary trailer, Killian turned to look out the window and broke the silence. "Bloody hell – the rain's only managed to get worse."

"I wager you _definitely _won't be letting me walk, then. So, d'you care to give me a ride home?"

The thought of Emma Swan in his car did something funny to his chest. "Oh. I'd love to, Emma, but-"

"'_But'_?" But what?"

He bit his lip. "But my car's in the shop."

She inhaled sharply. "Kay. And your parents?"

"Out of town on business."

"Well shit." Emma slumped back into the couch. "This isn't where you kill me is it? I said I was sorry for teasing you about The Notebook."

He chuckled. "Is there anyone –"

"Nope," Emma said before he could finish his sentence. "Everyone's gone for the weekend. Um."

"No trouble then. You'll just stay here."

Emma looked at him as though he'd just told her the gateway to Narnia was in his basement. Then she realized he was serious. "Oh – Killian. No. I can't impose like that!"

"It's no imposition, Emma. I insist. In fact, if my parents were here I can assure you they would say the same thing."

She opened and closed her mouth several times trying to come up with something – anything – to say, before finally settling on, "Are you sure?"

"I'm resolute on the subject. You'll take my room, and I'll camp out here on the couch."

"Killian, I'm not kicking you out of your own bed."

"Nonsense. You're doing nothing of the sort. _Gallantry_ is kicking me out of my own bed."

She pouted, but could tell he wasn't going to budge on the subject. What was it with him and that damn gentleman-complex? Was it an Irish thing, encoded into his DNA? She sighed. "I suppose there's not much use arguing it now – it's only just after nine anyways." She looked up and caught his eye.

"Please tell me you're thinking what I hope you're thinking."

Emma grinned at him before scrambling over the couch and heading back to the cabinet to retrieve a particular case and bringing it back to him.

"Yes!" he cried as he executed a double fist pump into the air in victory, before snatching it from her hand and bouncing to slide it into the blu-ray player.

Emma laughed as Killian retuned next to her on the couch. "Oh, if Mary Margaret and Ruby, could see me now, I'd never hear the end of it."

"Emma, love. We're in all honors and AP classes. I think it's a pretty safe assumption to say that we're both nerds."

"I keep telling them that, but they won't have it!"

"Well, they're not here, so let's just enjoy ourselves, and _The Avengers_,shall we?"

Emma nodded eagerly, and he pressed play.

* * *

Emma didn't remember falling asleep.

She also didn't remember either of them shifting on the couch in any way that would have led to him holding her.

But she certainly wasn't going to forget waking up in his arms when the blu-ray player started making god-awful scratching sounds.

She couldn't help the spastic episode that ensued, but god she really wish she could have. Especially when she fell off the couch and onto the floor. She hopped right back up in the hopes that a speedy recovery would spare her of at least some mortification.

"Right. Kay. Um, yeah. Soo… bed?"

After turning off the TV and tossing the remote onto the table, he got up off the couch with infinitely more grace than Emma had managed, not that it was a contest, but his fluid movements would have been enviable even to someone who had been plenty awake. "I'd say that sounds like a good idea." He raised his arms to stretch as he yawned, causing his shirt to ride up just enough to expose a slice of bare stomach that almost had Emma's jaw to the floor. She managed to compose herself before he could notice. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the stairs.

"After you." Emma followed him up the stairs, and into his room. "You-," she swallowed, "you really don't mind me sleeping in your bed?"

"If we hadn't converted the guest room into my dad's study, I'd usher you there in a heartbeat, but alas this will have to do. If it helps you sleep easier, know I probably would have crashed on the couch tonight anyway after a _Lord of the Rings _marathon."

She bit. "Extended edition?"

"Is there any other?"

Silence fell over them. Emma looked down at her feet. "Thank you."

"Goodnight, Emma."

Feeling impulsive, Killian leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. At that same moment, however, Emma had moved her head in attempt to meet his gaze as she was about to wish him "sweet dreams".

What ensued was a collision of lips and a statuesque stillness from the surprise.

Their rigidity lasted only an instant before Killian began moving his lips to kiss her properly, and brought his hand to her waist. Not even a heartbeat passed before Emma responded, and upped the ante by throwing her arms over his shoulders. He groaned and pulled her even closer.

The next thing Emma knew, he was sitting at the foot of his bed, trailing his hands up her sides under her – his – shirt, while she sat straddling his lap.

Eventually they had to come up for air, breathing heavily while they rested their foreheads against each other.

Killian took a deep breath before lifting her up off of his lap and seating her on the bed next to him. He stood up, and ran a hand through his hair. _Right_._ Stopping,_ Emma thought. _Stopping? Wait, where the hell did this even come from to start in the first place? _Her heart hammering away in her chest told her to keep going. _No. Stopping is…good. The responsible, sensible thing to do._

But when she saw him move to retreat out of the room, back downstairs to the safety of the couch, Emma's brain initiated "panic mode" and shut down – logic and reason were abandoned, she only knew she needed him and could not begin to contemplate why. Before he could even set his foot down, she grabbed his hand and jerked, pulling him back to her and into another searing kiss. He braced himself with one hand on the bed next to her hip, his other hand softly trailing along her jaw. She felt his lips curl into a smile, and the knowledge released a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

Emma scooted back to more fully utilize the bed and pulled him to follow. Hypnotized, he crawled after until he was completely above her. From this vantage point he was in perfect position to deepen their next kiss.

"_Emma_," he murmured against her skin as he kissed down her neck.

One hand started to snake under her shirt, and she arched into his touch. Encouraged, he gradually kept bringing his hand higher and higher, slowly testing how far she wanted to go. All that mattered was that she wanted it. Wanted_ him_. Finally his hand was over her ribs and he leisurely tucked his thumb under her bra and traced around the curve under her breast.

Ever so gently, she pushed him slightly away from her. He was half a second from going into a panic mode of his own, preparing to profusely apologize for pushing too far before hearing her say, and quite breathily, "You," she began pushing his shirt up his torso, "are far too dressed."

Obligingly, Killian pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and flung it across the room.

Emma's hand came up to trace his abs, her eyes staring transfixed, her mouth murmuring something about chiseled marble before she could stop herself.

"Like what you see, love?"

It was all Emma could do to nod and utter a "mhmm". He smirked unapologetically. Nice to know that the effect she had on him went the other way as well. He lifted her chin with his hand and kissed her once again. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped his lips when he felt her fingers working at the button of his jeans, causing Emma to feel her own smirk press against his lips.

That smirk was what had undone him. While he had begun determined to only cautiously test the waters as far as she would let him, his mindset had now completely turned over – this was a contest, and Killian Jones was very much the competitive sort. He withdrew his hand from her shirt and brought it to her side to shifting his weight onto it as he brought his now free right hand to her knee and gingerly stroked up her inner thigh. The small gasp she let out spurned him on, and he slipped his hand down the waistband of her pants. He drew his finger down to tease her through her panties.

"Fuck!" he growled, even before her hips bucked against his hand.

The discovery that she was wet only made his own desire swell.

Commanding his mind to sober, he ceased his ministrations, causing her to let out a quiet whimper, as he just looked down at her.

"I should…I should go," he said thickly, though he didn't budge an inch.

Emma opened her eyes and looked up to meet his. Something about this, about _them_, was right, and for once she refused to question everything. Thinking was off the table tonight. She ran her hands up his arms before sitting up. "No," she said, and returned to kissing him once again.

It was as though a dam broke, though neither felt they'd actively been holding back before. They pillaged and plundered each other's mouth, tongues and hands were everywhere.

"Emma," he panted when they broke for air, "are you sure?" One last chance to escape. She knew he'd go down to the couch without a word.

She also knew that was the last thing she wanted in this moment.

"Yes," she told him simply.

He stared at her dumbstruck before sealing the moment with a kiss. Reluctantly, he pulled himself off her to finally rid himself of those pesky pants. He also reached into the drawer of his bedside table and began fumbling with a packet. While he dealt with that, Emma took the time to shimmy out of her borrowed clothes, and cast off her bra and underwear into the growing textile landmine that was once the floor. In an alternate universe, Emma would be wondering how a few hours ago she couldn't even fathom sleeping in Killian's bed, let alone 'sleeping' with Killian in his bed. But here and now, Emma was having nothing to do with wondering, thinking, musing, pondering, mulling over, contemplating – basically anything that didn't have to do with or distracted from Killian touching her.

When he returned back on top of her, she cast her eyes over his figure and took him in. Enough light from the streetlamps broke into the room that nothing was left to the imagination. He was bigger than she'd imagined. What. Not that she'd imagined him before…

That thought was ripped from her head as her eyes moved up and met his and she saw how _he _was looking at _her_.

He had difficulty believing any of this was actually happening.

Namely he was completely floored by how she looked – bare and under him – every inch of her utterly perfect.

He trailed one hand slowly from her ankle, up her shin over her knee, thigh, hip, across her stomach, brushed next to her breast, over to her shoulder and down her arm before finally clasping her fingers with his. He bought her hand to his lips and kissed every digit. Then, he repeated the heavenly torturous process on her other side.

Emma shivered despite every place he touched feeling as though it had been set on fire.

"Didn't peg you as one for taking your time, Jones," she said, much more huskily than she'd intended.

He quirked a brow at her. "You would prefer I not?"

She merely grinned impishly at him.

"You're an odd one, Swan." He said, more to himself, shaking his head slightly.

"Am I now?"

He nodded slightly as he stroked her cheek. She tilted her head to grab his index finger between her teeth. "Most assuredly," he chuckled as his thumb swept over her lip.

She burst out laughing.

"What?" he asked, intrigued.

"You're calling me odd, but honestly – who talks like that?"

He laughed bashfully. "My parents may have taken me to a few too many Shakespeare festivals in my youth."

Emma smiled, enjoying this small, humorous, human moment while general expectations would dictate she should be feeling either anxious or consumed with lust – not to say that she wasn't completely aroused right now.

He bent down to kiss her once again, relishing how mind-blowing _that _was in and of itself, before nudging her legs open a little wider. He lined himself up with her and lifted his head to settle his eyes on hers, not wanting to miss a single expression. Slowly but surely, he pushed into her, her slick heat welcoming him, inciting a moan from them both. Once fully seated in her, he began rocking his hips to take up a pace. He started slow, not wanting to rush, but take his time and find what she responds to.

Both worked off the other's cues, finding a rhythm very quickly.

Killian wanted to tell her what had been plaguing his mind since he saw her on his doorstep, that he's been crazy about her for ages, but 1) he suspected that she'd shush him, 2) he was a little preoccupied at the moment – any time his mouth wasn't on hers it was employed as a waterfall, her name constantly tumbling from his lips. In the morning, he decided. He'll tell her everything in the morning.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting him closer, deeper. Soon he was hitting _that spot_ every single time had her yelling his name, yelling _Killian_ over and over again. Finally he drove her over the edge, and as the world shattered around her she moaned something unintelligible while bringing him along with her.

He buried his head in the crook of her neck for a moment, her fingers threaded through his hair – both of them trying to catch their breath – before he rolled off of her, pointedly sighing contentedly.

There's a moment where she almost mewls in complaint from missing the proximity, but his warmth returned shortly as he pulled her to him, arm around her waist. She scooched a bit, nestling into him _just so_ as though they were a jigsaw puzzle. After pulling the blanket over them, he pressed a kiss to her head and moments later both are completely asleep.


End file.
